The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
by Hermaphroditus
Summary: Keep your fingers out of my eye. While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls..." (Peter Gabriel, 1974)
1. Prologue : Masterpiece

Notes: What you have here, whether in your hands or on a screen or however you choose to read it, is a rather ambitious project I began two years ago. What you will read in the next chapters of this story is an interpretation and expansion of a whole tale that was written in 1974 by Peter Gabriel. The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway is a story quite unlike any other, and I say that my attempts to reinterpret and rewrite it are ambitious because of this, and because of the fact that I am interpreting not only story, but lyric and music as well, and turning that into what will hopefully become something like what it originally was; the stuff of memory and dreams. In this prologue, I will post the entire original story, in the hope that it will shed some light on my own story, the one to follow. I feel, however, that those who wish to understand my writings must not only read the story, but hear the masterpiece that accompanied it in its entirety. You, as the reader, have the power, of course, to read the original story and hear the music, or you can not. Hopefully my story stands on its own, and therefore I leave it up to you.

Disclaimer: All characters introduced within this document very likely belong to Peter Gabriel/Genesis, copyright 1974. These include, but are not limited to, Rael, John, Lilywhite Lillith, The Supernatural Anaesthetist, and the Slippermen. The titles of the chapters are the titles of the original songs on the double album The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway and are, once again, copyright Peter Gabriel/Genesis 1974. I will also be using the original lyrics in the corresponding chapters, and these belong to the aforementioned. The original Lamb Lies Down On Broadway story is copyright Peter Gabriel.

Prologue - The Masterpiece

"Keep your fingers out of my eye. While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. The people in memory are pinned to events I can't recall to well, but I'm putting one down to watch him break up, decompose, and feed another sort of life. The one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorized as 'Rael'. Rael hates me, I like Rael - yes, even ostriches have feelings, but our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. Rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme - but you won't see me directly anymore, he hates my being around. So if his story doesn't stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (i.e. the rhyme is planned, dummies.)

"The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed. The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theatre, having slept on pictures that others only dream on. The unpaid extras disturb the sleeping Broadway. WALK to the left, DONT WALK to the right: on Broadway, directions don't look so bright. Autoghosts keep the pace for the cabman's early mobile race.

"Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into daylight. Beneath his leather jacket he holds a spray gun which has left the message R-A-E-L in big letters on the wall leading underground. It may not mean much to you, but to Rael it is part of the process going towards "making a name for yourself." When you're not even a pure-bred Puerto Rican the going gets tough, and the tough gets going.

"With causual sideways glances along the wet street, he checks the motion in the steam to look for potential obstruction. Seeing none, he strides along the sidewalk, past the drugstore with iron guard being removed to reveal the smile of the toothpaste girl, past the nightladies and past Patrolman Frank Leonowich (48, married, two kids) who stands in the doorway of the wig-store. Patrolman Leonowich looks at Rael in much the same way that other Patrolmen look at him, and Rael only just hides that he is hiding something. Meanwhile from out of the steam a lamb lies down. This lamb has nothing to do with Rael or any other lamb - it just lies down on Broadway.

"The sky is overcast and as Rael looks back a dark cloud is descending like a balloon into Times Square. It rests on the ground and shapes itself into a hard edged flat surface, which solidifies and extends itself all the way East and West along 47th Street and reaching up to the dark sky. As the wall takes up its tension it becomes a screen showing what had existed in three dimentsions, on the other side just a moment before. The image flickers and then cracks like painted clay and the wall silently moves forward, absorbing everything in its path. The unsuspecting New Yorkers are apparently blind to what's going on.

"Rale starts to run away towards Columbus Circle. Each time he dares to take a look, the wall has moved another block. At the moment when he thinks he's maintaining his distance from the wall, the wind blows hard and cold slowing down his speed. The wind increases dries the wet street and picks up the dust off the surface, throwing it into Rael's face. More and more dirt is blown up and it begins to settle on Rael's skin and clothes, making a solid layered coat that brings him gradually to a terrified stillness. A sitting duck.

"The moment of impact bursts through the silence and in a roar of sound, the final second is prolonged in a world of echoes as if the concrete and clay of Broadway itself was reliving its memories. The last great march past. Newsman stands limp as a whimper as audience and event are locked as one. Bing Crosby coos, 'You don't have to feel pain to sing the blues, you don't have to holla - you don't have to feel a thing in your dollar collar.' Martin Luther King cries, 'Everybody sing!' and rings the grand old liberty bell. Leary, weary of his prison cell, walks on heaven, talks on hell. J.F.K. gives the O.K. to shoot us, sipping Orange Julius and Lemon Brutus. Bare-breasted cowboy double decks the triple champion. Who needs Medicare and the 35c flat rate fare, when Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are dancing through the air? From Broadway Melody stereotypes the band returns to 'Stars and Stripes', bringing a tear to the moonshiner, who's been pouring out his spirit from the illegal still. The pawn broker clears the noisy till and clutches his lucky dollar bill. Then the blackout.

"Rael regains consciousness ins ome musky half-light. He is warmly wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he cah hear is dripping water, which appears to be the source of a pale flickering light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb, or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb. Whatever it is, he feels serene, very clean and content as a well kept dummy with hot water in his tummy, so why worry what it means? Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.

"He wakes in a cold sweat with a strong urge to vomit. There's no sign of the cocoon and he can see more of the cave about him. There is much more of the glowing water dripping from the roof and stalactites and stalagmites are forming and decomposing at an incredible rate all around him. As fear and shock register, he assures himself that self-control will provide some security, but this thought is abandoned as the stalactites and stalagmites lock into a fixed position, forming a cage whose bars are moving in towards him. At one moment there is a flash of light and he sees and infinite network of cages all strung together by a ropelike material. As the rocky bars press in on Rael's body, he sees his brother John outside, looking in. John's face is motionless despite screams for help, bit in his vacant expression a tear of blood forms and trickles down his cheek. Then he calmly walks away, leaving Rael to face the pains which are beginning to sweep through his body. However, just as John walks out of sight the cage dissolves and Rael is left spinning like a top.

"When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: ' This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new prodiuct, in the second gallery. It is all the stock requred to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to he most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble-free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of action of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others.'

"As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries about his own safety. Running through the factory floor, he catches sight of his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.

"No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh in his mind, he moves into a reconstructiuon of his old life, above ground-

"Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than slow in the head. His momma and poppa had take a ride on his back, so he left very quickly to join The Pack. Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in the gang. Now, walking home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.

"That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous stainless steel razor. The palpitating cherry-redorgan was returned to its rightful place and began to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first romantic encounter.

"He returns from his mixed-up memories to the passage he was previously stuck in. THis time he discovers a long carpeted corridor. The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by strange insignia, some looking like a bulls-eye, others of birds and boats. Further down the corridor, he can see some people; all kneeling. With broken sighs and murmers they struggle, in their slow motion to move towards a wooden door at the end. Having seen only the inanimate bodies in the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, Rael rushes to talk to them.

"'What's going on' he cries to a muttering monk, who conceals a yawn and replies, 'It's a long time yet before the dawn.' A sphinx-like crawler calls his name saying, 'Don't ask him, the monk is a drunk. Each one of us is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there.' Not asking how he can move freely, our hero goes boldly through the door. Behind a table loaded with food, is a spiral staircase going up into the ceiling.

"At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd, huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32 doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until Rael screams 'Shut up!' There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new-found recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster. Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it. He standsby a middle-aged woman with a very pale skin who is quietly talking to herself. He discovers she is blind and asking for a guide. 'What's the use of a guide if you've got nowhere to go?' asks Rael. 'I've got somewhere to go,' she replies, 'if you take me through the noise, I'll show you. I'm a creature of the caves and I follow the way the breezes blow.' He leads her across the room and they leave the crowd, who dismiss their departure as certain to fail. When through the door, the woman leads Rael down the tunnel. The light of the chamber soon fades and despiter her confident step Rael often stumbles in the darkness.

"After a long walk they arrive in what Rael judges to be a big round cave, and she speaks a second time asking him to sit down. It feels like a cold stone throne.

"'Rael, sit here. They will come for you soon. Don't be afraid,' and failing to explain any more she walks off. He faces his fear once again.

"A tunnel is lit up to the left of him, and he begins to shake. As it grows brighter, he hears a non-metallic whirring sound. The light is getting painfully bright, reflecting as white off the walls until his vision is lost in a sort of snow blindness. He panics, feels around for a stone and hurls it at the brightest point. The sound of breaking glass echoes around the cave.

"As his vision is restored he catches sight of two golden globes about a foot in diameter hovering away down the tunel. when they disappear a resounding crack sears across the roof, and it collapses all round him. Our hero is trapped once again.

"'This is it,' he thinks, failing to move any of the fallen rocks. There's not much spectacle for an underground creole as he walks through the gates of Sheol. 'I would have preferred to have been jettisoned into a thousand pieces in space, or filled with helium and floated above a mausoleum. This is no way to pay my last subterranean homesick dues. Anyway I'm out of the hands of any pervert embalmer doing his interpretation of what I should look like, stuffing his cotton wool in my cheeks.'

"Exhausted by all his conjecture, our hero gets the chance in a lifetime to meet his hero: Death. Death is wearing a light disguise, he made the outfit himself. He calls it the 'Supernatural Anaesthetist'. Death likes meeting people and likes to travel. Death approaches Rael with his special canister, releases a puff, and appears to walk away content into the wall.

"Rael touches his face to confirm he is still alive. He writes Death off as an illusion, but notices a thick musky scent hanging in the air. He moves to the corner where the scent is strongest, discovering a crack in the rubble through which it is entering. He tries to shift the stones and eventually clears a hole large enough to crawl out of. The perfume is even stronger on the other side and he sets off the find its source, with a new-found energy.

"He finally reaches a very ornate pink-water pool. It is lavishly decorated with gold fittings. The walls around the pool are covered with a maroon velvet up which honeysuckle is growing. From out of the mist on the water comes a series of ripples. Three snakelike creatures are swimming towards Rael. Each reptilian creature has the diminutive head and breasts of a beautiful woman. His horror gives way to infatuation as their soft green eyes show their welcome. The Lamia invite him to tast the sweet water and he is quick to enter the pool. As soon as he swallows some liquid, a pale blue luminescence drips off from his skin. The Lamia lick the liquid; very gently as they begin, with each new touch he feels the need to give more and more. They knead his flesh until his bones appear to melt, and at a point at which he feels he cannot go beyond, they nibble at his body. Taking the first drops of his blood, their eyes blacken and their bodies are shaken. Distraught with helpless passion, he watches as his lovers die. In a desperate attempt to bring what is left of them into his being, he takes and eats their bodies, and struggles to leave his lovers' nest.

"Leaving by the same door from which he had come in, he finds some sort of freaks' ghetto on the other side. When they catch sight of hin the entire street of distorted figures burst into laughter. One of the colony approaches him. He is grotesque in every feature, a mixture of ugly lumps and stumps.

"His lips slip across his chin as he smiles in welcome and offers his slippery handshake. Rael is a little disillusioned, when the Slipperman reveals that the entire colony have one-by-one been through the same glorious romantic tragedy with the same Lamia, who regenerate themselves every time, and that now Rael shares their physical appearance and shadowy fate.

"Amongst the contorted faces of the Slippermen, Rael recognizes what is left of his brother John. They hug each other, John bitterly explains that the entire life of the Slipperman is devoted to satisfying the never-ending hunger of the senses, which has been inherited from the Lamia. There is only one escape route; a dreaded visit to the notorious Doktor Dyper who will remove the source of the problems or, to put it less politely, castrate.

"They discuss the deceptively-named escape for a long time and decide to go visit the Doktor. They survive the ordeal and are presented with the offensive weapons in sterile yellow plastic tubes, with gold chains. 'People usually wear them around their necks,' said the Doktor handing them over. 'The operation does not necessarily exclude use of the facility again, for short periods, but of course when you want it you must provide us with considerable advance warning.' As the brothers talk themselves through their new predicament, a big black raven flies into the cave, swoops down, grabs Rael's tube right out of his hands and carries it up into the air in his beak. Rale calls for John to go with him.

"And he replies, 'I will not chase a black raven. Down here you must read and obey the omens. There's disaster where the raven flies.' So once more John deserts his brother.

"The bird leads Rael down a narrow tunnel, he seems to be allowing him to keep at a closed distance. But as Rael thinks he might catch hold of the bird, the tunnel opens and finishes at an enormous subterranean ravine. Casually, the raven drops his precious load into the rushing waters at the bottom. It's enough to drive a poor boy ravin' mad.

"Seeing the dangers of the steep cliff, our courageous hero stands impotent and glowers. He follows a small path running along the top, and watches the tube bobbing up and down in the water as the fast current carries it away. However, as he walks around a corner Rael sees a sky-light above him, apparently built into the bank. Through it he can see the green grass of home, well not exactly; he can see Broadway. His hear, now a little bristly, is shaken by a surge of joy and he starts to run, arms wide open, to the way out. At this precise point in time his ears pick up a voice screaming for help. Someone is struggling in the rapis below. It's John. He pauses for a moment, remembering how his brother had abandoned him. Then the window begins to fade - it's time for action.

"He rushes to the cliff and scrambles down the rocks. It takes hima long time to get down to the water, trying to keep up with the current at the same time. As he nears the water's edge he sees John losing strength. He dives down into the cold water. At first he is thrown onto the rocks and pulled under the water by a fast moving channel, which takes him right past John, down river. Rael manages to grab arock, pullhimself to the surface and catch his breath. As John is carried past, Rael throws himself in again and catches hold of his arm. He knocks John unconcious and then locking themselves together he rides the rapids into the slow running water, where he can swim to safety.

"But as he hauls his brother's limp body onto the bank he lies him out and looks hopefully into his eyes for a sign of life. He staggers back in recoil for staring at him, with eyes wide open, is not John's face - but his own.

"Rael cannot look away from those eyes, mesmerized by his own image. In a quick moevemnt, his conciousness darts from one face to the other, then back again, until his presence is no longer solidly contained in one or other.

"In this fluid state he observes both bodies outlined in yellow and the surrounding scenery melting into a purple haze. With a sudden rush of energy up both spinal columns, their bodies, as well, finally dissolve into the haze.

"All this takes place without a single sunset, without a single bell ringing and without a single blossom falling from the sky. Yet _it_ fills everything with its intoxicating presence. _It's_ over to you. Copyright Peter Gabriel 1974.

"Keep your fingers out of my eye. While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. The people in memory are pinned to events I can't recall too well, but I'm putting one down to watch him break up, decompose, and feed another sort of life. The one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorized as 'Rael'. Rael hates me, I like Rael - yes, even ostriches have feelings, but our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. Rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you won't see me directly anymore - he hates my being around. So if his story doesn't stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (i.e. the rhyme is planned, dummies.)

"The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed. The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theatre, having slept on pictures that others only dream on. The unpaid extras disturb the Sleeping Broadway. WALK to the left, DONT WALK to the right: on Broadway, directions don't look so bright. Autoghosts keep the pace for the cabman's early mobile race.

"Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into daylight. Beneath his leather jacket he holds a spraygun which has left the message R-A-E-L in big letters on the wall leading underground. It may not mean much to you but to Rael it is part of the process going towards 'making a name for yourself'. When you're not even a pure-bred Puerto Rican the going gets tough, and the tough gets going.

"With casual sideways glances along the street, he checks the"


	2. Track 1 : The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

Track 1 - The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

**And the lamb lies down on Broadway.**

**Early morning Manhattan,**

**Ocean winds blow on the land.**

**Movie-Palaces now undone,**

**The all-night watchmen have had their fun.**

**Sleeping cheaply on a midnight show,**

**It's the same old ending - time to go.**

**Get out!**

**It seems they cannot leave their dream.**

**There's something moving in the sidewalk steam,**

**And the lamb lies down on Broadway.**

**Night-time's flyers feel their pains.**

**Drugstore take down the chains.**

**Metal motion comes in bursts,**

**But the gas station can quench that thirst.**

**Suspension cracked on an unmade road**

**The trucker's eyes read "Overload"**

**And out of the subway,**

**Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid**

**Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,**

**And the lamb lies down on Broadway.**

**The lamb seems right out of place,**

**Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.**

**Somehow it's lying there,**

**Brings a stillness to the air.**

**Though man-made light, at night is very bright,**

**There's no whitewash victim,**

**As the neons dim to the coat of white.**

**Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid**

**Wipes his gun - he's forgotten what he did,**

**And the lamb lies down on Broadway**

**Suzanne tired, her work all done,**

**Thinks money - honey - be on - neon.**

**Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn**

**And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.**

**Wonder women you can draw your blind!**

**Don't look at me! I'm not your kind.**

**I'm Rael!**

**Something inside me has just begun,**

**Lord knows what I have done,**

**And the lamb lies down on Broadway.**

**On Broadway-**

**They say the lights are always bright on Broadway.**

**They say there's always magic in the air.**

**They say the lights are always bright on Broadway...**

_It_ begins. In the quiet of early morning Manhattan, through the steam rising from the pavement and the light filtering down between the buildings and dappling the street, the behemoth city holds no evidence of the great, busy monstrosity it is to become in the daylight hours. No, now it sleeps as slow and lumbering parasites, their yellow and black tattooed carapaces glinting and their guts purring, creep along, oblivious to the cold ocean breeze that dissipates the acrid smoke they spew. They breeze itself is dissipated in kind by the labrynthine passageways it struggles through, gaps between the skyscrapers that jut to the sky like great crooked concrete teeth. Weary men and women are dispelled from the warmth of the theatre in which they'd caught tonight's brief sleep as the war between worlds raged on around them. Now they're expelled into the cold-wet of a Broadway morning, sleep still gumming their eyes. They clutch their rags tighter about them and shiver, only believing that it's the cold that brings to them these expressive convulsions. Their muddled minds have yet to recognize the abstract stillness that hangs in the air, and even if they did, the impoverished of Broadway might not have cared. They don't see themselves as being entities with the ability to alter the way things are. And yet among them is our hero, who has a chance to bring about great change, though we don't yet recognise his face. We've yet to know him.

Meanwhile, a trucker, his hulking machine familiar parked nearby, stands forlorn. The truck was dealt some damage on a country road badly in need of resurfacing, and the master fears his paycheck at stake. The metal creature grumbles its pains. It needs help, and help it will recieve in the form of a nearby mechanic's shop, where it can sip a gasoline beverage while a metalworking surgeon performs his miracle craft. Until then the trucker will stand by, sipping at his own caustic drink and staring, glazed, at the light that is beginning to reflect off of the skyscrapers. He thinks it beautiful, but only because the alcohol has blurred his vision so that he cannot see the sharp modern coldness that reflects with the sunlight. It is a mixture of the unimaginable ancient and the next greatest new, that which will be replaced in its own time. Our trucker need not comprehend these depths, and that makes him a happier person, but not a more complete one. And so he will stand, happy and ignorant, and thinks that someday he might get away from all this and do something BIG, something worth doing. He doubts that he will get that chance, and is suddenly not quite so happy and ignorant as before. What he does not understand, however, is that everything has a place, and the fluidity of things allows for great change, if we let go our hold and let the current take us where we need to go.

Now we must leave our trucker, fondly, lovingly, and move along. There is much ado here in New York, much ado about nothing, so to speak, and we must try to be a part of it all while we have this chance. We needn't stray far. Suzanne, a working girl, sits in a grubby motel across the street, glad for once of the sounds from the auto shop across the street that keep her awake. She wants to sleep, but instead she counts her money, thinking, "_money, honey, be on, neon..._" and listening very hard for the creaky wooden footstep that signals _something_, a change, a shift. A shift that lets her drift off deeper into her hazy reverie. Until then she counts and counts, a switchblade resting near her right hand, which tingles to hold it. She is afraid, and Fear is the mother of Violence. Suzanne knows that her night isn't over until the man next door, wiry and muscular and _strong_, has left for the night. He is her bogeyman, her deathwatch beetle that snores gently instead of taps. Though she cannot sleep, cannot... cannot... she slips away anyway and falls for a few moments into sleep. A cabman's velvet clothed hand sounds the bleating call that wakes the prostitute from what she fears might've become her death-sleep...

and out there, somewhere in the rising steam, something moves. A lamb. Its fleece miraculously clean of the rich sludge that cakes the streets, the lamb blinks its dark, sleepy eyes, and lies down on Broadway. This scene of quiet serenity brings a tear to the eye of a young man who happens past, and he will hide this from the boys he's going to meet, unable to admit to such a childish display of emotion. But standing there and staring at the lamb feels like ending.

This beast Manhattan is full of dark places, where men dig into the Earth like ants and make their nests in the stygian gloom of Underneath. The light of day never penetrates these places, and in the virgin darkness of one of these places that our story truly begins. An acrid smell drifts through the empty subway station, thick and cloying. A sharp rattle sounds, and then the contrastingly gentle hiss of a nearly empty spraycan being used. Our eyes are not accustomed to the darkness, so all we see is a dark figure making the final white stroke, then standing back to admire his masterpiece. In large and angled lettering, "R-A-E-L" drips down the wall, next to aerosol sentiments such as, "The Lamb Lives!" (which has meaning to us, now, but not to Rael, who thinks it a silly sort of thing to write on a wall) or "The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" next to a somewhat skilled depiction of a child fighting a make-believe dragon in the subway station dark. In some ways, Rael feels he _is_ that child, fighting the great dragon of life with nothing more than a rusty and bent coathanger, shaped to look like a great sword but containing no more magic than a child's mind can put into it. This may mean nothing to you, it may mean everything; that is unimportant, because it means something to Rael. He's marked this place for his name, because he identifies with the picture and because this is all a part of making a name for himself. He's learned that when you're only a half-bred Puerto-Rican, the world spares you no love, and you've got to fight back to get back.

We move on. Patrolman Frank Leonowich (48, married, two kids) stands silent in the entryway to the wig store, pale eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys our Puerto-Rican kid, who has just emerged from the dark of the subway station. Rael misinterprets this look as one of veiled distaste and walks past, sparing the patrolman no smile as he might some of the kinder ones he normally meets on his forays. He can feel the officer's eyes burning into his back, but does not hurry his step, which would have been a sure sign of guilt. The officer himself senses only sparingly the odd feeling of wrong that hovers about our Rael, and thinks that perhaps it was the startling grey eyes that stared at him from the dark face, or something in the skinny boy's stride that is off. It makes the hairs on Leonowich's neck stand up. Rael might not agree, but Patrolman Leonowich is not such a bad man, really. He just believes in ghosts.

Rael sighs with relief as he rounds the corner and feels the policeman's gaze removed from his back. His deep, unusual, grey eyes shine with a cold-sweat nervous sort of triumph. The spraycan digs into his side, out of sight underneath his worn leather jacket, even as the frayed cuffs of his jeans scrape away at the rapidly drying muck on the street, the same muck that shied away from the lamb's wool. Three whores down the street give Rael the eye, and he gives them the cold shoulder. He's places to go and things to be, or, at least, he feels he does. Today is an important day for an unimportant reason. So unimportant that he doesn't know what it is, but whatever the case, he feels as though he's done all this before, or something very close to it. Today he carries something new, though: thoughts of his brother John, and perhaps that will make all the difference in the world.


End file.
